His expression changed.
“No.”
I nodded.
He stared at me.
“Are you serious?”
I handed him the test.
He looked at it for several seconds.
Then he sat down beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
Eventually, tears rolled down his cheeks.
“We’re really doing this,” he whispered.
I touched my stomach.
“We’re having a baby.”
For the first time in years, our house didn’t feel empty.
It felt like something was beginning.
But we also knew how much could go wrong.
The doctors warned us repeatedly.
My age alone made the pregnancy extremely complicated.
There were risks to my health.
Risks to the baby.
And risks we couldn’t predict.
But week after week, our baby continued to grow.
At twelve weeks, we saw the heartbeat.
At sixteen weeks, we heard it clearly.
At twenty weeks, the ultrasound technician smiled.
“Everything looks good.”
I cried.
Thomas squeezed my hand.
“Look,” he whispered.
